THE STORY OF P.T. THE GOOD

In a wagon on the common dwelt P.T the Good, he knew that school had a purpose and reasons, P.T. the Good preffered to learn from the seasons. He picked nettles in spring and fresh herbs in summer, and gathered whatever fruit he could scrounge,He scooped potatoes up off the street where they fell from the market stalls in the town.

In the back of his classroom closest to the rear sat Godfrey at 12 enduring another school year.He sat next to me ,Beatrice across from Abner Mulgrew, into the room clomped P.T. the Good, and P.T. sat in the rear to

Large for his age P.T. already shaved, he rode Paddy ,a black and white pony with big feet and shaggy mane.Nobody dared asked why P.T. the Good was his name.He read a poem of introduction- I am P.T. the Good from a deep Berkshire wood now I live on the common near you, and that being said I will slap the round head-of any one I fancy to.

He slapped the round head of Tenbrooks Smythe the third who used a bad word to describe him, a Toerag!!! He slapped Abner Mulgrew and his smelly lunch of lamb stew.

One day in the forest he met up with Godfrey both boys meeting up astride different sized ponies. Who are you squealed Paddy have you been fed today? Godfrey’s pony nickered back yes, oh I have had cool water, sweet feed and hay. As the ponies nipped noses in pleasant horse chat discussing good grazing and clover- in silence P.T. and Godfrey looked each other over.

Why have you never slapped me on the head Godfrey asked? Because you are so much like me answered P.T. But I would never lash out said Godfrey, even if Abner ate beets next to me.Tenbrooks is nasty because he is the third, and learned from the second how to harm with the cruel word. Fully understood nodded P.T. the Good with your dislike of beets and your love for the poem- we have this in common and are free spirits destined to roam.

The sunrise and morning sky will be, along with watching the river flow our sitting room and T.V. When that fine summer ended and came school year anew the desk was empty next to Abner Mulgrew. Godfrey knew that P.T. the Good was gone, he rode beside their wagon the morning the family moved on….As far as Rakaia Bridge high and wide , across the common P.T. the Good would ride.P.T. wrote poetry, he loved to fish,he always had a Border Collie dog by his side,he rode a black and white pony with thick shaggy mane.

Only Godfrey ever asked and he never told me .. why P.T. the Good was his name. FROM BEATRICE

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